


whatever our souls are made of

by majesdane



Series: que estaba tan enamorada de ella como el primer día [6]
Category: Seis Hermanas (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - San Junipero, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9536615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: Heaven is a place on Earth. Celia, Aurora, and San Junipero.





	

_i shall love you till that final stretch of sand that the sea never quite reaches  
is finally swathed by crashing waves. or, perhaps longer, if there's time._  
\-- morrissey, in a letter to linder sterling

 

 

Celia's first impression of San Junipero is that everything is so loud and bright.

The city is awash with neon. Cars drive by, tops down, blasting Duran Duran or Pat Benatar or Belinda Carlisle. The sidewalks are littered with groups of people talking and laughing, leaning on cars or up against buildings. Billboards advertising the latest movies, the latest electronics, are scattered along rooftops. The shops on the main street are lit up with displays, bold and enticing. Celia pauses by one of the window shops to watch a car commercial on a display of brand new televisions. _"26 inches!!!"_ a sticker attached to the edge of the screen on all the TVs exclaims.

She's still standing there when she picks up the traces of a conversation from a couple passing by. 

"Could you wait, please?" The man says loudly. His hands are jammed in the pockets of his jacket and he's trying to keep up with with the woman he's with. "Aurora, you're not going to ditch me again tonight, are you?"

"No. Not tonight, anyway," The woman teases, glancing back at him. "There's only a few hours left! Let's go have some fun."

Celia follows them with her eyes, watches as they enter a club called Tucker's. The doors are open and music is blasting from inside. 

Inside, the club is dark. Dark and smokey. The club is mostly dominated by a large dance floor, which is nearly full. Celia slips past the couples loitering just inside the entrance and starts to wander around. In the back of the club is the bar, with a few booths tucked off to the side just next to it. On the other side is a cramped arcade, offering a smattering of games. Celia trails her hand over the controllers of a few of the machines. She's never been very good at arcade games, though.

She's just about to head towards the bar to get something to drink when she spots the woman that she saw outside a few minutes ago.

The woman's leaning up against the wall, talking to the man she was with earlier. Celia pauses to take her in: dark hair cut short like a boy's, slick and styled. Acid washed jeans and scuffed up Converses. Her over-sized flannel shirt hangs open, unbuttoned, exposing a gray band t-shirt underneath. Celia thinks it says _The Ramones_ on it, but she can't be sure.

She's the prettiest girl Celia's ever seen.

She -- _Aurora_ , Celia thinks, that's what the man called her outside -- laughs at something her companion says. And then her eyes flit over the club. Her gaze locks with Celia's for a brief second; Celia hurried looks away, feeling her face grow hot. She steps back into the shadows, takes the long way around to the bar to ask for a Coke.

"No alcohol?" the bartender asks.

Celia shakes her head. She wants to keep her wits about her tonight. 

She's sitting in one of the booths, nursing her drink, watching people trickle in and out of the club, when all of a sudden Aurora slides down into the seat across from her. Celia coughs, clears her throat.

"Hola," Aurora says cheerfully. "You look familiar. Didn't I pass you on the street a little while ago?"

Celia nods.

"First night in San Junipero?" Aurora grins when Celia nods a second time. "I thought so. I didn't recognize you."

"Do you know everyone in San Junipero?" Celia asks, half-teasing, half-genuinely curious. 

Aurora grins at her. "Are you a tourist?" 

"What?"

"You know. Just passing through."

"I --"

"So here's where you ran off to, then," a male voice huffs, cutting Celia off. 

Celia and Aurora both look up. It's the man Celia saw Aurora with earlier. He's holding a cocktail glass in each hand. An thin orange wedge is skewed on the rim of one of the glasses. He hands it Aurora. "Here. And don't leave me stranded at the bar like that!"

"What? I'm just trying to set you up with the bartender, that's all," Aurora laughs. "This is Fermín," Aurora tells Celia, jerking her head up in his direction. 

Fermín smiles politely at Celia. "And who are you?"

"An old friend," Aurora says quickly, before Celia can speak. Under the table, her foot nudges against Celia's leg. _Play along._ "I haven't seen her in years. We were just about to start catching up, actually. She's like, really sick, Fermín."

"Oh?" Fermín looks skeptical. He turns his gaze back to Celia. "Sorry to hear that. How much time do you have?"

"Six months."

"Five, actually," Celia blurts out. She doesn't know why she says it. Her heart skips a beat when Aurora winks at her, grinning from ear to ear. 

Fermín frowns. "Well," he says slowly, looking back and forth between Celia and Aurora. 

"Fermín, I'll see you later, okay?" Aurora pats him on the arm encouragingly. "There's only two hours left. Go have fun."

 

;;

 

"Your boyfriend?" Celia asks, when Fermín's wandered off.

"Who, Fermín?" Aurora smirks. "Uh, no. He's like, really, really gay." She takes a sip of her drink. "But _he_ actually _is_ an old friend. We went to school together, when we were much younger." She pauses, considering. "It feels like forever ago."

Aurora sighs. "He's nice, but I needed a breather. He's been pestering me to take him to the Quagmire, which, um, no thanks."

Celia has no idea what the Quagmire is, but she's too afraid to ask. She doesn't want to look stupid. 

"I'm Aurora, by the way. Perdón. I just realized I hadn't actually introduced myself."

"Celia."

"Hmm." Aurora studies her for a moment. "Your face kind of looks like a Maria."

Celia blushes. What is she supposed to say to that? "Well, my name is Celia."

Aurora smiles at her, easy and playful. It makes Celia feel warm all over.

"So," Aurora starts, after a minute. "The ‘five months' was a nice touch. Are you really dying?" It's a rather blunt question, but Aurora asks it so nonchalantly. As if she was asking about the weather. She gazes at Celia over the rim of her glass. 

"Yes," Celia admits, a little startled by her own honesty. It feels strange to just _say_ it, instead of tiptoeing around the subject. "Yes, but I don't really know how much time I have left. The doctors _did_ say I had five months left. But five months was seven months ago, so . . ." she trails off, toying with the straw left in her empty Coke bottle. "I think time's nearly up."

Aurora makes a sympathetic noise. "Sorry."

Celia shrugs. "It's not a big deal. Maybe it sounds weird but . . . I'm kind of . . . " she searches for the right words. "I'm kind of over it. You know? I'm tired of worrying. Now I'm just --"

"-- waiting."

It's a statement, not a question.

Celia nods, surprised. "Yeah. Exactly."

Aurora's finished her drink and is now nibbling on her orange wedge, slouched back against the polyester seat. They sit like that for a moment, regarding each other. It should feel uncomfortable, Celia thinks. But it doesn't. It feels . . . nice. Like this is how it's supposed to be. Her stomach's been in a knot since she first arrived in San Junipero, but now, the two of them settled into an easy silence, she feels herself start to relax.

A minute passes. Then two. 

A Madonna song comes on rotation.

It's one Celia used to love when she was a little kid. _Como puede ser verdad._ She and Francisca used to sing along to this in the car, windows down, wind whipping through their hair. It was their mother's favorite song. Celia glances tentatively out towards the middle of the room, the swelling crowd. Aurora must catch her gaze, because she says, suddenly, "¿Quieres bailar conmigo?"

Celia shakes her head. "No, I don't think so," she says slowly. She's never been much of a dancer. It always makes her feel awkward. 

"Come on," Aurora urges gently. Her hand closes loosely around Celia's wrist, pulling Celia out of her seat. "It'll be fine. Just follow my lead, okay?"

 

;;

 

Celia isn't sure how long they dance for. She's awkward at first, and self-aware of it. But Aurora grabs her hands and twirls her around, puts her hands on Celia's hips and sways in time to the music. One song bleeds into another until they're laughing and leaning on each other, out of breath.

 _Outside?_ Celia mouths, finally, nodding in the direction of the back exit. She needs a break. Her clothes are damp with sweat. Aurora nods and follows her outside. It's not cold -- in San Junipero, it's perpetually perfect summer -- but it feels cold, compared to the club. Celia brushes a hand through her hair and sighs, taking in the night.

Aurora clambers up onto a metal storage bin that's been pushed against one of the brick walls of the alley. Celia joins her. 

"So," Aurora says. "I've been meaning to ask." She points to her own face. "The glasses?"

"Oh." Celia reaches up self-consciously, touches the frames. "They don't actually -- the lenses don't do anything. I'm just so used to wearing them. It felt weird otherwise."

Aurora smiles. "I thought so. Though I figured they were part of your 'look' or whatever."

Celia glances down at her herself. She's not exactly sure that her canary yellow polo shirt and plain, high-waisted khaki shorts constitute a "look". She hadn't known exactly what to expect in San Junipero, so she'd just worn what had felt most comfortable. Plain and unassuming. She tells Aurora as much.

Aurora laughs. "I like it!" She motions with her head back towards the club. "It's refreshing. Most people around here try so hard to look how they think they should look. Like something they saw in a movie."

"Thanks." Celia returns her smile.

A pause follows. Celia stares up at the sky, speckled with stars. The moon is big and bright. It's amazing, really, how real everything feels here. A cool summer breeze kicks up. She shivers. Aurora inches in a bit closer to her, until their shoulders are touching. 

"You're coming back next week, right?" Aurora asks. "There's so much more to San Junipero than just this club. I could show you, if you want. What's one thing you always wanted to do?"

"Oh, I don't know," Celia sighs. She runs her fingers along the metal edge of the box, thinking. Her mind is a blank. She doesn't know. Finally she says, "So many things," because it's the simplest answer she can come up with.

"Like?" Aurora prods.

"Well, like . . . getting married, for example." It's true, but it sounds pathetic saying it out loud. 

"Really?" Aurora laughs again, bumping Celia's shoulder with her own. 

Aurora laughs a lot, Celia thinks. It's nice. Celia's not used to being around someone so chipper. It makes Celia feel at ease. Comfortable. Like she could tell Aurora anything. Maybe that's why she's been so honest tonight, despite herself.

"Well, I don't know if San Junipero is the place for that," Aurora tells Celia. 

She's grinning still, but Celia notices a slight twinge in her voice. Something nostalgic, almost. Or regret, maybe. Something tugs at Celia's heart. She looks down at the gap between her and Aurora's thighs. Only the tiniest fraction of space separates them. They're nearly touching. When she looks back up, Aurora is staring at her, her dark eyes shining in the moonlight. She holds Celia's gaze for a long, long moment. Celia's heart races. 

And then Aurora's hand is on her bare thigh, sliding suggestively inwards. Celia shivers again, but not from the cold this time. Aurora's hand is warm. Inviting. Celia's head buzzes. "Want to come back to my place?" Aurora asks quietly. She doesn't look away.

Celia hesitates. She wants very badly to say yes. She _should_ say yes, she thinks. Isn't that why she was here? To have some fun before she passed over? Go out on a high note?

But she's too sensible. Too shy. It's been too long. 

Aurora seems to sense her trepidation. "Or, maybe next time?" She asks. Her smile is gentle. There's a hopeful tone to her voice -- or so Celia thinks. Aurora's hand moves away from Celia's thigh. She takes Celia's hand in hers instead, intertwining their fingers. It feels strangely intimate. 

Celia's watch chirps. It's a minute fast, so that she'd be ready.

"Almost midnight," she observes softly.

They're so close now that Celia can see the little flecks of gold in Aurora's eyes. Aurora leans in and Celia leans up and their mouths meet in the middle. Aurora's arms go around Celia's waist. She pulls Celia in, closing the inches between them. The seconds tick down.

One,

by one,

by one. 

_Next time._

 

;;

 

She'd heard about San Junipero, of course; it was practically all anyone her age talked about. San Junipero wasn't the only place to go, but it was the most popular. How wonderful it was. San Junipero was a party town. Flush with bright lights and the rose-tint of nostalgia. So wonderful that it was dangerous. People losing themselves in the past. Forgetting the real world -- gray and dull and painful as it was -- still existed. The government had stamped down heavy regulations after the first few years because of misuse. 

Celia had considered not even doing the trial at all, but Alejandro -- Blanca and Cristóbal's son, a doctor who worked at the complex where Celia lived -- had convinced her to try it. She at least had to know what she was turning down, he'd said, placing a trial kit on her desk. Five hours every Saturday evening for three months.

It wasn't much. But just enough to get a taste. Strictly monitored, of course. 

Her trip to San Junipero should mean nothing to her. She _wants_ it to mean nothing to her. She'd tried to temper her expectations, going in. Convinced herself that it was nothing special. But days later, she's still thinking about it. It's dazzled her, like it or not. Enticed her. It had felt like stepping into one of the classic movies she'd watched, over and over again, growing up. She hadn't expected it to be so real. 

Not that it mattered, though. Real or otherwise, she wasn't planning on staying. She wasn't going to get attached to it. 

Even still, she feels a longing to go back. 

Not because of Aurora, she tells herself, even as she hears Aurora's voice in her head. _Maybe next time?_ It's just, she's getting old. It would be a shame to let this last chance at freedom go to waste. She might as well enjoy herself, while there's still time. 

A whole week to wait.

Days and days.

Hours and hours.

Time seems to move slower now, the minutes immeasurably longer. Celia tries to temper anticipation; thinking about the wait makes it worse. But her books bore her now. Her journal, thick leather bound up with a deep red ribbon, lies discarded on her desk. She tries to write, but she's too distracted. Instead, she sits by the tall picture windows, gazing out at the coast, and thinks of Aurora. They don't know each other at all, but Celia's intrigued by her. 

Drawn in. Infatuated. Like a schoolgirl.

She remembers the touch of Aurora's hand against hers. Aurora's soft mouth. The lilt of her voice. The color of her eyes, rich and deep as mahogany. She wishes she could sketch Aurora out, to have something real and physical to look at. But she's not artistically inclined, not like her sister Blanca. When She can see Aurora so clearly in her mind: bathed in neon blues and pinks, grinning at her. Dark hair falling just _so_ over her eyes. Remembers how Aurora had taken Celia's hands in hers, twirling her around. 

( _a young girl with eyes like the desert_ )

And then, outside, on the street, leaning in for a kiss. Tasting of sickly sweet, fruity cocktails. A kiss that Celia's turned over and over again in her mind since it happened. Aurora's hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. The muffled thrum of music back inside the club.

She wonders where Aurora is right now. What she's doing.

If she's thinking of Celia, just like Celia's thinking of her.

Tomorrow --

 

;;

 

\-- Here she is again, at last.

Aurora's eyes meet hers, across the room.

"It's you," she remarks, sounding pleased, as Celia slides into the seat next to hers at the bar.

Celia nods.

There are two glasses in front of Aurora; she slides one over to Celia. "Just a lucky guess," she says, and then she laughs. It's a nervous laugh, like she's letting off tension. "Truthfully," she admits, "I was maybe a little afraid you wouldn't show."

On the dance floor, Celia kisses her. Aurora is rum and Coke and sticky lipgloss. And they're breathless, the two of them, breathless and sweaty from dancing. Celia's heart races. Aurora looks at her with big, dark eyes. There's a bright smudge of glitter on one of Aurora's cheeks; Celia doesn't know how or when it got there. It sparkles under the lights.

One of Aurora's hands settles on the small of Celia's back. Celia's shirt has ridden up, just slightly, and she can feel the slight press of Aurora's hand on her, bare skin on bare skin. They stay there like that for a moment, completely still. Celia looks at Aurora. And Aurora looks right back.

The moment lingers. One song blurs into another.

( _Dangerous_ , Celia thinks to herself. _It's dangerous, to want something here._ )

But she follows Aurora's lead anyway, lets herself be tugged out of the club and into the night.

 

;;

 

Aurora's apartment is on the outskirts of downtown. It's in the "old" part of San Junipero, Aurora explains, where the streets are lined with narrow townhouses. Her apartment is on the third floor of a brick building square in the middle of the row. As they climb the stairs, Aurora says that she likes the apartment because it reminds her of where she used to live.

Celia wonders if it would be polite to ask about where Aurora lives. Not being able to decide, she waits quietly while Aurora unlocks the door and ushers Celia in.

"It's so big," Celia observes, gazing around the room. The curtains are pulled back and the moon is so bright that the place is flooded with light. Aurora's apartment is expansive and open. It makes Celia think of one of those New York City lofts she'd always imagined living in one day. 

On the counter is a photograph of a man and a woman, standing in a kitchen somewhere. They're smiling at the camera. The man is older and balding, but the woman bears a striking resemblance to Aurora. Celia gestures to the photo, as Aurora shrugs her jacket off. "Miss your parents?"

Aurora pauses a moment, like she's unsure. For a brief second, her face changes and she looks almost . . . sad. Celia's about to apologize, but before she can, Aurora steps forward and sweeps her up into a heady kiss that makes Celia's knees grow weak. She lets Aurora's mouth and hands guide her to the bedroom, the photo now all but forgotten.

They tumble onto Aurora's bed, kissing the whole way, fingers tugging at clothing. Celia sits up so that Aurora can help her pull off her polo shirt. Celia finishes undoing the buttons on Aurora's shirt, pushes it off her shoulders, leans in to kiss the flat plane of Aurora's stomach.

She's dizzy with excitement and desire. It's been a long time since she'd last done this. Too long. It feels like coming up from underwater, breaking through the surface, gasping for air. She is young again, suddenly, trembling hands and butterflies in her stomach. Every part of her buzzing, every cell alive with frantic energy. Desire pools low in her belly, hot and urgent.

She pulls Aurora in with one arm, kisses the swell of Aurora's breasts. Aurora sighs, one hand on the back of Celia's head. Celia undoes Aurora's bra with one swift, fluid motion. It joins the rest of the clothes by the side of the bed. Celia leans back, pulling Aurora down on top of her. Aurora kisses Celia, her neck, her shoulders. Panting and flushed, her breath hot on Celia's skin, her fingers undo Celia's belt, button, zipper. 

They shed the rest of their clothing quickly, working their way under the sheets. Their pace slows, grows languid and soft. Celia moans when Aurora kisses her again, bodies pressed flush together. Aurora shifts and Celia can feel how wet she is, wet and eager. The moonlight is pouring through the windows and Celia admires Aurora's body in the pale glow. She trails her fingers down the length of Aurora's back and sighs, as Aurora kisses the slope of her neck. Celia's brain is hazy with lust. Aurora's hand slides from Celia's breast down to her hip, lingering there.

"Okay?" Aurora asks quietly, her eyes searching Celia's face. 

Celia nods and leans up to kiss her.

Aurora kisses her way down the length of Celia's body. Celia's breath hitches as Aurora's tongue drags along the inside of Celia's thigh. _Please_ , Celia murmurs, arching her hips up. And then Aurora's tongue is pressing against Celia just _so_ and Celia's fingers are in Aurora's short hair, tugging encouragingly. 

 

;;

 

Afterwards, they lie quietly in bed together, side by side, facing each other. Aurora's fingers comb gently through Celia's hair. Every so often, her thumb strokes lightly over the curve of Celia's ear. Celia yawns, sleepy with sex and the warmth of the bed. There's a part of Celia that can't help but wish that this moment could stretch out forever. 

"What are you thinking about?" Aurora asks. Her hand drifts to Celia's shoulder. Her fingers trace lazy, sloping circles on Celia's skin. 

"Nothing." Celia takes Aurora's hand in her own, threading their fingers together. "Just thinking about how it's been a long time since I've done, well, anything like this." 

Aurora moves in closer so that she can press a kiss to Celia's shoulder. Celia puts her face against the slope of Aurora's neck, her lips trailing over the soft skin there. Aurora smells like summer, like lilacs in bloom. She breathes Aurora in. She wants to remember this later, when she's waiting out the rest of the week. 

Aurora asks, "You don't have anyone outside of here?"

"There were girls," Celia tells her. She closes her eyes and lets her mind drift. Remembers walking hand-in-hand down the street, lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed, kisses over coffee. Falling asleep together on the couch. The memories blur together now, old as they are. It's been years. 

"I really did love some of them," Celia says. "But nothing ever stuck. I guess I always just loved my writing more than anything else. Writing and traveling. Now it's just me. I mean, I have my sisters and their families, but it's not the same."

Aurora squeezes her hand and makes a soft sympathetic sound.

"And now I'm just passing through," Celia continues. "And before I leave, I'll have a good time." She kisses along Aurora's collarbone, smiles. "I'm just going to have a good time."

Celia shifts and looks over Aurora's shoulder at the old digital clock on Aurora's nightstand. "Time's nearly up."

Aurora strokes Celia's arm. "Then let's just lie here," she says.

 

;;

 

Aurora's not at Tucker's when Celia arrives the following Saturday.

She asks the bartender if he's seen Aurora, but he just shakes her head and suggests she try the Quagmire, which isn't much help. The one time Aurora had mentioned the Quagmire, she hadn't seemed at all interested in it. And from what Celia knows of it -- she looked it up after her first trip to San Junipero -- she doubts very much that she'd find Aurora there, ever.

Celia tries Aurora at her apartment, but the place is dark and silent. 

She isn't sure where else to look. She's only known Aurora for two days, after all. Not even that. And San Junipero is so huge; she could be anywhere. Resigned and disappointed, she makes her way back to Tucker's, hoping to run into Aurora on the street. She can't believe that Aurora would just disappear like this. It doesn't seem right. She'd thought they'd connected. Maybe Aurora hadn't felt the same way, though. Maybe it didn't mean as much to her.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in Celia's mouth.

(She's lonely.)

She's walking through the door at Tucker's when she bumps into someone. She turns to apologize and is startled when she finds herself face-to-face with Fermín. "Oh!" She exclaims. "It's you."

"Aurora's friend, right?" Fermín steps to the side to allow a group to pass them. 

"Yeah. I -- I don't suppose you'd know where to find her?"

"How would I know that?"

"Well." Celia bites her lip, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "You're her friend, aren't you?"

Fermín frowns. "Yes. But we're not that close."

"Well, have you seen her around?"

"No." He shakes his head. "But," he pauses, looking thoughtful, "she does like to jump between times. You could try that. I've seen her in the '90s a few times. '95 and '97, I think. Once in '88. And I haven't been there before, but I know she likes the 2010s a lot."

Celia sighs. It's too much and not enough all at once. If she doesn't find Aurora on her first few tries, she's going to have to wait a whole other week until she can try the other times. And that's assuming she's actually _in_ any of those times. Fermín said that he and Aurora weren't close, after all. It's hard to trust his judgement -- but it's the only thing she has. 

"Thanks," Celia tells him.

"Good luck," Fermín says, turning away.

 

;;

 

Aurora's not in 1988. Or in 1995. Or 1997. 

The night's up before Celia has time to keep looking.

She's standing outside Aurora's empty apartment in 2011 when her watch chirps, signaling a minute to midnight. She sighs, sliding down to sit on the cold, rough concrete. She leans back against Aurora's door, feeling tired and sad.

Next time, she tells herself, before she blinks back into reality. 

_Next time._

 

;;

 

"Well, maybe it's for the best," Diana says.

She's visiting for the day. She's brought Eugenia, Celia's oldest niece, up with her, but Eugenia has wandered off to go talk to Alejandro, leaving Celia and Diana alone to talk. The windows in Celia's room face out into the gardens; it's a lovely view right now, everything fresh and brilliant with the new spring. Celia has thrown her windows wide open.

"I mean, you don't plan on staying in San Junipero," Diana goes on. She's standing by Celia's bookcase, thumbing through an edition of _Pride and Prejudice_ that Celia's had for ages. "Aurora's giving you an out here, unintentionally or not." 

"It just bothers me," Celia says. It comes out more forcefully than she means it to. She pauses, sipping her now lukewarm tea. "I can't explain it. I just . . ." She falters, uncertain. 

Diana waves her off, putting the book away. "I get it." 

"It's so _real_ , Diana. And I have to keep telling myself over and over again that it isn't." 

"That's the whole point though, isn't it? That it's so realistic. And besides, there's nothing wrong with enjoying yourself while you're there," Diana tells her, sitting down beside Celia on the couch. "Is it something more than that, though?" She asks after a minute, her voice edged with concern. "Are you thinking about changing your mind?"

Celia frowns, staring down into her cup. "Adela . . . "

"Would understand." Diana's hand is on Celia's shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. "We've always said that."

Celia shrugs her off. She stands, crossing her room to look out the windows. "Nothing's changed." 

 

;;

 

2016 is where Celia finds Aurora.

She's in the arcade area of Tucker's, playing _Dance Dance Revolution_ with a girl with strawberry-blonde hair, laughing when she missteps. Aurora's hair is longer here, down just past her shoulders. Her style in 2016 doesn't seem to be all that different from 1987. Celia notices she's still sporting a band t-shirt -- not The Ramones this time though, this has a picture of a cracked mirror on it; Celia recognizes it from an old album cover -- and high-top Converses. Black skinny jeans. Celia can't help but watch her for a moment; she looks so lovely in this era. Like she was made for it.

"Aurora?"

Aurora turns. For a moment, when she meets Celia's eyes, she looks confused.

But then Aurora's face lights up with a brilliant smile.

"Oh," she says. "It's you."

 

;;

 

Aurora brings her to the beach. 

They sit on the edge of the boardwalk, shoes off, toes digging into the sand. In the background, Aurora's iPod shuffles through a mix of quiet indie songs. She's hooked it up to a little bluetooth speaker, the volume turned down low. Celia's grateful for that; it helps to fill the silence between them. 

"Why 2016?" Celia asks. 

Aurora shrugs. "It's the most recent time period we can go back to. So far. And I kind of like being able to actually go back to when I was younger. In the real world, I mean." Celia watches her run her fingers through the sand. "Don't get me wrong. 1987 is great. Probably a lot nicer than the _actual_ 1987, too. But it's nothing compared to visiting time periods I actually _lived_ in."

"Why didn't you tell me that you were going to a different time?"

Another shrug. "You said you weren't planning on sticking around and I was really starting to like you. I kind of thought maybe it'd be easier for both of us if . . ."

"If you left." It comes out sounding more accusatory than she intends. Celia clears her throat. "Sorry."

"You said you just wanted to have fun," Aurora points out lightly. "I didn't want you feel tied to something."

"I don't. Or, I didn't." Celia tells her. "Look, I told myself that I wasn't going to like . . . I don't know. Feel something. It makes it harder to leave. It's just, I don't know how much more time I have. And once I'm done, that's it. But . . ."

She pauses, uncertain. Aurora turns to look at her.

"But I really missed you," Celia tells her. "I looked all over this stupid place for you."

"You did." Aurora sounds pleased and a little surprised. The corners of her mouth twitch up into a smile.

She shifts over a tiny bit and puts her hand on Celia's. Celia smiles back. _Fuck it_ , she thinks. She's allowed to want something, after all this time. For as long as it is, even if it's only for a little while, she doesn't want to spend her time in San Junipero with anyone else but Aurora. 

In the lull that follows, one song fades into the next. Celia recognizes it instantly. It's been years and years since she's heard it. When she mentions that to Aurora, Aurora's smiles widens.

"This is one of my most favorite songs," she tells Celia, turning up the volume. "Come dance with me." She jumps up, brushing the sand off herself before pulling Celia up onto her feet as well.

Celia giggles as Aurora spins her around. They run to the edge of the water so that the waves can lick at their feet. Aurora kicks up a spray of water at Celia, laughing. Celia yelps and splashes her back. She grabs Aurora by the front of Aurora's sweatshirt, tugging her in for a kiss. When they break apart, Aurora spins Celia around until she's dizzy and out of breath from laughing.

When she collapses against Aurora to catch her breath, Aurora wraps her arms around Celia, holding her tight. They stay like that for a little while, swaying gently to the music. Celia, her arms folded behind Aurora's neck, head on Aurora's shoulder, closes her eyes and sighs contentedly. She wants to let this moment linger for as long as it can. She doesn't know how much time they have left. 

She thinks about what Aurora told her, how this is the era that feels the realest to her. There'd been an edge to her voice when she said it. It reminds Celia of that first night when they'd stood outside the club together. It's strange, how at times like this she can feel so close to Aurora, while still not really knowing her at all.

Celia realizes: she's falling in love.

She knows she shouldn't. Knows that she can't. Thinks that it must be impossible.

And yet --

( _a glimpse of bliss, a little taste of heaven_ )

"I think you're the only real thing in San Junipero," Celia whispers.

Aurora kisses her, again and again and again.

 

;;

 

A week later, in the shower in Aurora's apartment, water dripping off of lips, noses, fingertips, and eyelashes, Celia reaches up to cradle Aurora's cheek against her palm. Aurora's flushed from the heat, bangs slick against her forehead. Celia leans up to kiss her. She can taste water when they kiss, the slight copper of it. Aurora sighs. The sound is barely audible over the splash of hot water as it hits the tile walls surrounding them.

Celia imagines kisses in the rain, clothes wet and sticking to their bodies, fingers tangling in wet hair. Imagines her fingers knitted into the front of Aurora's shirt, the tight stretch of fabric as she pulls Aurora close. Just the two of them, on some street in Madrid, caught in a sudden downpour. Laughing, mouths bumping against each other clumsily.

In another life, it could have been a reality. 

It could happen _here_ , she thinks.

In _this_ life.

"¿Estás bien?" Aurora asks softly, startling Celia out of her reverie. Her eyes search Celia's face.

Celia nods. She brushes Aurora's wet bangs back away from her face. "Just thinking. Only two hours left."

Aurora kisses her. "Tranquila," she murmurs. "Don't think about that right now."

 

;;

 

"Meine Liebe," Aurora purrs, against Celia's ear. They're nestled together in bed, half-asleep, waiting for midnight. Always, always waiting for midnight. Celia makes a small sound of contentment as Aurora presses little light kisses along her neck. The slight, dry brush of her lips against Celia's skin make her mind hazy with sleep.

"What does that mean?" She asks. She can feel Aurora's mouth curve up into a smile, against her neck. 

"I'll tell you someday," Aurora says.

She presses a kiss to the curve of Celia's ear. _Meine Liebe_ , she says again. Then again. Even softer this time. Like a mantra. Like a prayer. Celia closes her eyes pulls Aurora's arms around her tighter. She wants to stay like this forever; them, in this moment, when everything is perfect. She doesn't want to think about the night ending. Five minutes to midnight. Five minutes until seven more days. 

She turns in Aurora's arms. She can't say goodbye without a kiss.

Aurora presses their foreheads together. "I'll be right here," she says. "Waiting."

 

;;

 

"You said that you wanted to get married," Aurora says suddenly, next Saturday. They're standing on her apartment's balcony, sharing a blanket and watching the people passing by on the street below. Celia looks over at Aurora, raising an eyebrow. Aurora chuckles. "I looked it up," Aurora explains. "I was curious. Turns out, you actually _can_ get married in San Junipero. I mean, it's more of a symbolic thing than anything else. But, it's an option."

Celia bumps their shoulders together. "Are you proposing?" She's teasing, but she can't deny the way her heart skips a little at the thought.

"If you want." Aurora grins. Her eyes sparkle. She leans in for a kiss. When the kiss ends, she runs her nose gently up and down against Celia's; it makes Celia feel warm all over. "¿Quieres casarte conmigo?" 

"Hmm. Silva-Alarcón." Celia tries it out. "I like the sound of that."

Aurora's smile is brilliant. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes." Celia nods, laughing. "I want to. Even if it doesn't really mean anything. Quiero ser tu esposa. Yes." She's still laughing when they kiss again. 

A little while later, in bed, Celia says, "I wish I could have met you outside of San Junipero." She stretches with a contented sigh. She tugs the sheets up a little higher, before draping an arm loosely over Aurora's hip. "Do you think it could have happened?"

Aurora shakes her head. "I don't think so. And even if we had, you wouldn't have liked me. Not like now, anyway."

"Why?" 

But Aurora doesn't answer. Instead, she catches Celia's free hand and presses a kiss to her palm. And then she kisses Celia's fingers, one by one. 

"Come on," Celia presses gently. "I want to meet you. Where are you?" When Aurora stays silent, Celia says, "You know I could just look it up."

"Madrid," Aurora says, sounding rather reluctant to admit it. 

"I'm in Madrid too!" Celia says, pleased. She kisses Aurora, light and quick. "Let me come visit you."

Aurora makes a noncommittal sound and pulls away, climbing out of bed. Celia watches Aurora slowly pull her clothes back on. The mood has changed now, suddenly. Celia doesn't understand what's happened. They only have a few minutes left. Celia doesn't want to leave now, feeling so out of sorts. She stands too, crossing the room to embrace Aurora from behind. She presses a small kiss to Aurora's cheek, resting her head on Aurora's shoulder.

"I want to see you," she says quietly. "Just once. Whoever, whatever you are out there, I don't care." And then, just barely above a whisper, she adds, "Te quiero."

Aurora covers Celia's hands with her own.

"Alright," she agrees, at last.

 

;;

 

This can't be right, Celia thinks. She checks and double-checks the address; it's not wrong.

(but -- )

She's arrived at a cemetery.

Celia's stomach roils uneasily as she makes her way through the gates, towards the main office. She manages a tight smile at the woman sitting behind the desk, asks for the directory of the site. It's in alphabetical order. Celia knows what she's going to find, but she still takes her time scrolling through the list. A feeling of dread washes over her.

Then, finally:

_Aurora Alarcón Marco._

It's the only entry with that name. Next to it are a birth and death date, followed by the location of the grave. Celia's hands are shaking when she hands the directory back to the girl. She forces down the lump in her throat so that she can ask for directions. 

 

;;

 

It's a surreal feeling, kneeling in front of Aurora's grave. Like she's watching herself from a distance.

She reaches out and traces her fingers over the letters chiseled into the marble stone. The stone is cool under her touch, shaded by the trees from the heat of the August sun. It grounds her a little.

"Hey," she exhales with a nervous laugh. "It's me. Though it feels weird to be talking to you like this when I just saw you in San Junipero a few nights ago. That felt more real than . . ." she trails off. She can't do this. She can't talk to a grave like this when last Saturday night she was standing on Aurora's balcony in San Junipero.

 _¿Quieres casarte conmigo?_ Mouths pressed clumsily together because Celia kept laughing and it made Aurora laugh too. 

All of the times she'd imagined Aurora in _this_ world. She'd pictured Aurora's face a thousand times. She imagined someone not unlike herself, with wispy strands of gray hair and stiff limbs and age lines. It had never even occurred to her to picture anything else. But here was the truth now, like a hard shock of ice water: Aurora was nothing like Celia.

She'd died twenty years ago.

 

;;

 

She looks Aurora up on the San Junipero directory system when she's back home.

Aurora Alarcón Marco. Born in Cáceres, a full fifteen years younger than Celia. According to the little biography on her page, she'd been a brilliant doctor who worked for a non-profit company. She'd traveled all over the world for humanity projects in impoverished countries. Below that is a list of her accolades. There's nothing about how she died, only that she was 35 and that she was buried in Madrid, which Celia already knows now. Aurora was survived by her parents and two siblings. An older brother and a younger sister.

(the picture in aurora's apartment)

Celia feels the sting of tears in her eyes as she looks at the accompanying photo of Aurora. Aurora's head is turned slightly, grinning at someone off-camera. She looks more like how she did when Celia found her in 2016, hair long and swept back, her pale lavender shirt hanging loosely off her shoulders.

Celia presses her fingertips to the screen. She can hear Aurora's laugh in her head. Her fingers know the smoothness of Aurora's skin. She remembers Aurora's warm breath against her ear, wrapped up in bed together, waiting for midnight.

_Meine Liebe._

 

;;

 

"Access to San Junipero is strictly monitored for those in the trial period," Alejandro tells her, when Celia corners him in his office later that afternoon. "If someone were to find out, I could get in big trouble."

"I won't tell if you won't tell." Celia presses, with a tight smile.

Alejandro sighs. "Celia . . ."

"Please?" Celia winces at how pathetic she sounds. But this is important. "It would only be for a little while. Ten minutes at most. I just . . . can't wait a whole week."

"It's about Aurora, isn't it?" Alejandro asks. Off Celia's look he continues, "My mother told me about her. How you two connected in San Junipero."

"I just need to see her for a minute. There . . . there's I found out something about her. And she needs to know how I feel."

Alejandro nods. He leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. There's a lull in the conversation as he seems to consider Celia's request. Finally he sighs again, before pushing himself to his feet. "Alright," he says, as he shrugs on his white lab coat. "Ten minutes. And you can't tell _anyone_ , okay?"

 

;;

 

She's never been to San Junipero in the daytime.

She takes it in: the way the evergreen mountains frame the coast, the way the sunlight glints off the ocean. The gentle crash of waves, the scent of saltwater and sand. As she makes her way down the boardwalk, passing through the dunes and tall, yellowing grass, she crosses her fingers that she'll find Aurora here. Aurora could be anywhere right now and Celia doesn't have much time to look for her. But she remembered how much Aurora loved the beach, how Aurora mentioned once that she liked to spend hours here, in 1987, reading and dozing in the sun. 

Celia's heart drops when she first surveys the beach and doesn't see Aurora. But then she spots Aurora propped up against the wooden support leg of the perpetually empty lifeguard shack.

Her heart lifts and she shouts out to Aurora as she crosses the beach as quickly as she can, stumbling slightly along the uneven sand.

Aurora stands to greet her, her face twisted in confusion. "Celia?" she says, as Celia draws close. She laughs, shaking her head. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you." Celia says and cups Aurora's face in her hands and kisses her.

 

;;

 

"We only have a few minutes."

Aurora smiles. "I'm just happy you're here."

Celia takes a moment to admire Aurora looks in the sunlight. Striped tank top and worn-out denim shorts; those long, long legs. Short hair wet and slicked back. Just the hint of a tan, which makes the tiny bridge of freckles along Aurora's nose and cheeks stand out more. Since she got here, Aurora hasn't let go of Celia's hand. It feels like she's afraid to let go. 

There's no easy way to say what she wants to say. Celia licks her lips nervously. She might as well just put it plainly. "I found you," she says. "In the real world, I mean."

Aurora looks away. "I'm sorry," she says, after a long minute. "I should have told you.. I wanted to. I just . . . didn't know how. And I was afraid of losing you, which is a completely selfish reason," she stumbles on, quickly, and Celia doesn't miss the catch in her voice. "So if you'd rather I just left you alone now --"

Celia squeezes her hand. "I don't want you to leave," she says quietly.

They're still holding hands when time expires.

 

;;

 

When Celia arrives on Main Street the next Saturday, Aurora's already waiting for her. She's leaning back in a shiny black Chevy Corvette Roadster, top down, one arm hanging out the window. She straightens up when she spots Celia, beeping the honk at her with a wink. "Hola guapa," she calls teasingly, as Celia walks over. "Want a ride?"

Celia climbs in. "Have you always had this?"

"I usually prefer to walk." Aurora turns the key; the engine springs to life. "But I thought maybe tonight we could do something different. Want to go see the cliffs?"

"Wherever you want," Celia says, leaning across the seats for a quick kiss. A line from an old movie pops in her head. "To the stars." 

Aurora drives fast. It scares Celia for a moment at first, until she remembers they can't get hurt. And even if something were to happen, she's set her pain receptor on zero. She throws her hands up in the air with a shout of delight as the wind whips through their hair, the car speeding through the winding roads. 

It's dark, out on the cliffs. The stars seem even brighter out here. It's quiet, too. Celia can hear the distant sounds of the ocean, far below them. The crash of the waves against the rocks. They're as far away from San Junipero as they can get. It feels like they might be the only two people in the world right now.

They sit on the hood of Aurora's car, warm from the drive.

"So," Celia starts. "I thought maybe I should tell you about myself."

Aurora doesn't say anything. Celia looks at her looking at the stars. They're silent for a little while longer.

"Both of my parents died when I was young," Celia says, at last. "My sisters have been my only family for pretty much my entire life. I had this best friend that I knew for years and years. Petra. She was . . . well, I had a crush on her for quite a while. She died when I was nineteen."

Aurora looks at her. "I'm sorry."

Celia shrugs, looks down at her hands. "A few years later, my oldest sister, Adela, and her husband died. A car accident. My sisters and I . . . it was really hard. Even now . . . it was so long ago, but even now, when I think about it, it hurts just as badly as it did that first day."

The trees rustle as the wind kicks up.

"I think the worst part is the forgetting. I have pictures of my sister and Petra. I remember what they looked like. But little by little, I've forgotten them. The way they smiled. The sound of their voices. The time that we spent together. All the hours, all the years." Celia's crying now. She can't help it. "Sometimes it's like they never even existed."

"But you remember how they made you feel," Aurora says softly. "You remember the love."

"Yeah." Celia nods, sniffling. She swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yeah, I remember that."

They spend the rest of their evening in silence, lying in the backseat of Aurora's car. It's peaceful. Celia dozes off for a bit, lulled to sleep by the waves and the touch of Aurora's hand, stroking up and down her arm. She thinks she dreams of Adela, but it's gone when she wakes up.

"What time is it?" she asks, sitting up.

Aurora glances at her watch. "Quarter till midnight." She stretches, climbing out of the back.

Celia climbs out behind her. Her limbs are stiff from lying in the same cramped position all evening.

"Listen," Aurora says slowly. She takes Celia's hands in her own, looking so serious that it startles Celia a little. "I've been thinking. Be with me."

Celia laughs. "What?"

"When it's your time. Pass over. Stay here with me." Aurora's expression is earnest, hopeful. "Look, time's almost up. Then I'll have to wait the rest of the week to see you again. And then a whole week after that." 

"You know I'm just a tourist."

"And a couple of months from now?" Aurora lets go of Celia's hands, taking a step back. "You won't even be that. You'll just be . . . gone." She gestures up towards the sky. "You could have forever."

"Forever?" Celia scoffs, suddenly annoyed. "I don't even know what forever is. And you don't either."

"I know it's better than nothing." Aurora retorts, frowning. 

"Look," Celia snaps. "I lived my life, okay? And for most of it, I was happy. _Really_ happy. But I felt guilty, too. Because every time something happened in my life -- good, bad, _anything_ \-- I wanted to share it with my sister. With my best friend. And I couldn't."

Her eyes burn with tears, but she blinks them away. Celia doesn't want their evening to end with a fight, but she can't help herself. "I got to go on living and they didn't. They didn't even get _this_." She gestures with her arms. "San Junipero; they couldn't have even dreamed of it."

Aurora, her expression dark, bites her lip and says nothing. 

"You can't even begin to know what it's like. Having to keep on living. Willing yourself to, for their sake." There's a lump in her throat. She swallows hard. Her vision is blurry with tears. "It's the hardest thing I've ever done."

Aurora scowls. She turns away. "But at least you got to live."

Celia grits her teeth. "When I first found out I was dying, my other sisters told me that they wanted me to pass over into San Junipero. So we'd all be together. Together, even if not complete." Celia laughs bitterly. "And, truthfully? For a moment, I really wanted to. But then I thought, how could I? How could I when Petra and Adela missed out? And that's when I decided to be with them, wherever they are. Even if they're nowhere. Even if there's nothing else."

There's a wall between them now. Celia can feel it. Aurora is angry. Hurt. Celia can feel her own anger boiling in her blood. Regret, too. And guilt. She wishes that she could fix it, that she could bridge the distance between them. She wants to explain how impossible everything is, being asked to choose like this. How even now her own sisters, well-intentioned as they were, couldn't understand.

At last, Aurora breaks the silence.

"You know what? I would have given _anything_ to have just one more year alive. A week, even. To do everything just one last time. To say goodbye the way I should have." She speaks in a low, flat tone. It makes Celia feel sick to her stomach. "San Junipero? All the worlds we could live in here? I would have given it up in a heartbeat. Until I met you."

Aurora's eyes shine. Her voice wavers. "You said I was the only real thing here," she continues, quieter now. Gentle, almost. "Te quiero. So why can't you just stay?"

A tear rolls down Celia's cheek. She bites her lip. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "Aurora, I can't, I have to --"

But time's up.

 

;;

 

Aurora turns when Celia slides into the empty seat next to her at the bar, a week later. A long moment passes between them. "I didn't think you'd be back," Aurora says, in a soft, sad voice.

"Don't be an idiot." Celia kisses her. "You think I'd leave without a proper goodbye?"

(here they were again, always saying goodbye)

"Quédate conmigo," Aurora says, against Celia's mouth. "Stay."

 

;;

 

The days pass, as they always do. A week goes by. Then another. Celia doesn't visit San Junipero.

It pierces her with guilt. It hurts like a physical wound, the absence of Aurora. But they've said goodbye too many times; Celia can't bring herself to do it again. Not anymore. She wants to rip out the pages of her writing journal that she's devoted to Aurora, but instead she buries them in her desk under stacks of old letters. Best to put things in their places, she thinks. 

And then it's the anniversary of Adela's death. Celia goes with her sisters to the cemetery. It's not the same one where Aurora's buried, thankfully. Celia isn't sure if she could bear that. But Petra's here, too; Celia always makes sure to bring her flowers as well. The gravestones are weathered now; the marble has lost its shine. 

Celia's tired. It's been too long. Her limbs seem to ache more now than they did before. Her cough worsens. Things seems to have caught up with her at last, Celia thinks. All of those months on borrowed time. The weeks, the hours. She isn't sad. In a way, it's calming.

Blanca comes to visit. Celia sits with her on a bench at the edge of the garden, where the hill overlooks the whole city. 

"Are you sure?" Blanca asks after a long while. She turns to look at Celia.

Celia meets her gaze and nods. "I'm sure," she says.

She remembers being curled up in bed, Aurora pressed against her, arms around her waist. How Aurora had kissed her neck and shoulders. Their fingers interlocked. Pressed together so tight, Celia thought she could almost feel the faint beating of Aurora's heart. Aurora, murmuring lines of poetry. The feeling of her breath on Celia's skin, the dry brush of her lips.

_(cuando el dulce cazador_

_me tiró y dejó herida,_

_en los brazos del amor_

_mi alma quedó rendida)_

Francisca's hand is on top of Celia's, frail and wrinkled. Her thumb brushes back and forth in light, comforting strokes.

Celia looks up at Francisca, looks behind her to where all of her sisters are standing, crowded together around Celia's bed. All of them but Adela. Celia can feel her limbs growing heavy, like they're being weighed down with lead. The edges of her world have started to lose focus. Colors begin to blur. For a moment, Celia thinks she can see Adela here after all. 

The corners of Celia's mouth tug up slightly. "See you soon," she says.

And,

at last,

there's nothing.

 

;;

 

She wakes, slowly. She doesn't open her eyes at first, instead letting herself linger in the warm contentment of the bed. She can feel the mid-morning sun on her skin. It keeps her drowsy, still half-dreaming.

The bedroom window is open; she can hear the soft rustle of the curtains. The sounds of the city drift up from the streets -- the rumble of traffic, the jumbled conversations of passerbys. The slam of doors and the faint strains of music from somewhere down the street. She sighs and presses her face against her pillow. The sheets are crisp, freshly laundered. When she breathes in through her nose, they smell like the beach. Salt water and sand. A bright blue sky that stretches endlessly in every direction. The air is tinged with the scent of flowers. A girl's perfume. Light and sweet. Lilacs.

"Meine Liebe." Aurora whispers into Celia's ear, sweet as a summer day. 

Celia smiles, and opens her eyes.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to heartsways for looking this over. [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDctslmCi94) is the song Celia & Aurora dance to.


End file.
